


Grief

by merulanoir



Series: Forget Me Not [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: A short fic of Geralt and Regis dealing with the emotional fallout after the events of 'Heartsease.'





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> I made Corvo Bianco to have a small forest near it. Not entirely canon, but who gives. Also, I imagine something akin to yoga and meditation could have originated in Ofier, so that's what I'm rolling with.

When the nightmares got bad, Geralt had taken to walking around the estate. If he couldn't sleep, there was no sense in lying awake and staring at the ceiling. It only made him feel worse, and Regis woke up every single time. Their bond made sure he always knew when Geralt was in distress, especially when they were physically close.

So Geralt walked. The first few times Regis had accompanied him, but when the vampire had seen he was doing fine, he had agreed to stay back and sleep. Geralt had insisted; it was not like he couldn't call for Regis whenever he wanted to, should he need company. No use for both of them to stay awake.

Geralt had slipped out of bed once again, with Regis just awake enough to brush his hand against his sleepily. _I'm here, love, should you need me,_ was what it meant. There was much else besides conveyed via their bond, but it was not words. Those were feelings and sensations: worry, love, trust, and unflinching certainty they could overcome this, too.

Geralt had smiled and brushed against Regis' mind, lulling him back into sleep before dressing himself into what his mind interpreted as his homewear: simple, black breeches and his customary white shirt, with soft leather boots. He always carried a knife, more out of a persistent habit than any real danger, and it slipped into its place as well. Geralt was glad to see his hands were not shaking as badly as they had been a minute ago, when his mind had ripped itself out from the dream. He had woken up with terror crushing his chest, unable to move for a few moments.

Geralt shook his head and headed downstairs. He noticed a small lantern had been lit by the front door, and the sight made him smile. Somehow B-B knew he had trouble sleeping, and it was his way of showing support. Not that Geralt needed the light that the small candle flickering behind the yellowish glass offered, but seeing the tiny flame was a comfort. It made him feel cared for.

Once the cool night air washed over Geralt, he let his shoulders relax and started towards the copse that bordered the estate to southwest. It was, as far he knew, his property, but he had not made a move to have it cultivated for vines. The thought didn't sit right with him. He had been drawn to the place ever since he had started to walk away the long, dark hours. It was not a sinister pull, so Geralt had allowed himself to follow the urge, usually coming to rest by the small stream that ran through the forest.

It was a pretty place, a calm and quiet woodland oasis in the middle of the Toussaint's agricultural landscape. The plants and trees were decidedly different than what Geralt was used to: long ferns, beeches, oaks, and so many different flowers he couldn't hope to name them all. The fact that he was yet to see even one archespore only added to the forest's allure. As funny as it sounded in his head, Geralt felt marginally safer there.

True to habit, the witcher took the shortest path to the brook. Once he was seated on a boulder and listening to the chattering of blackbirds in the nearby tree, he made himself release the lingering tension in his body. Regis had taught him the exercise, once it became clear Geralt was carrying some residue of the trauma and needed better tools to address it. It was a simple thing, something based on an Ofieri practice of using your body and its movement to ground yourself, integrated with meditation.

Geralt didn't go very deep into the meditative state, only allowed his mind drift free of thought and focused on his breathing. Combined with the tranquillity of the place, it had thus far worked better than anything else. Every time Geralt came here, he felt himself walk away a bit less burdened. Now he was waking up covered in cold sweat only a few times a week, whereas in July it had been a nightly occurrence. He had been getting irritable from the lack of sleep, when Regis had finally come up with the solution.

Once Geralt could tell his pulse was back to normal, he drew his knees up to his chest and sighed. It wasn't pleasant, waking up after vivid nightmares. His time in the Beauclair prison had been bad enough for his mind to take some serious damage. The nightmares were not only arising from the darkness of the cell, but also from his search for Ciri, the battle of Kaer Morhen, and even Stygga castle. The witcher could easily tell the issue with these specific memories were not the actual events, but his flat refusal to deal with losing his friends due to them.

When he had found Ciri in the Isle of Mists, Geralt had felt his chest clawed open. The short minutes he had spent thinking he had been too late and that Ciri was dead had been a long, narrow and suffocating tunnel of hopeless anger. He hadn't dared to think what he would have done, had Ciri not opened her eyes once the magical firefly had landed on her. Geralt had simply buried that thought, not acknowledging the implications until his dreams had dragged them to his mind's forefront.

Those had been the worst nightmares he'd ever had. He had very nearly hit Regis when the vampire had shaken him awake, all but manhandling Geralt when he had trashed and struggled. He had apologised to Regis as soon as he realized he was safe and there had been no blood on his hands; the vampire had gathered him close and held him there, telling him he was an idiot if he thought Regis would hold that against him.

Afterwards, Geralt had also relived Vesemir's death more times than he'd cared to count. He had been forced to feel his longing and grief in full, and it had caused him to question the sense in dragging these things out in the first place. But that jar of maggots had been opened, and it refused to stay shut any longer. Geralt missed Vesemir so much it hurt in a visceral, cruel way. The master witcher had been a constant presence in Geralt's life as long as he could remember; as close to a father as possible. And the Wild Hunt had taken him away.

When the nightmares had turned to the events of Stygga, Geralt had actually fallen out of bed in his hurry to wake himself up. If he'd thought the experience of living through these memories back when Ciri had just went back to Emhyr had been bad, this had been something else entirely. He'd been frozen, so caught up in the nightmare that Regis had spent almost ten minutes trying to reach him. Afterwards there had been a lot of hoarse shouting and tearful hugs, as Geralt's brain finally grasped what had almost happened, how close he had come to losing his mate.

Geralt kicked off his boots and let his feet dangle over the rock. The brook's water was cold and bright. It was only a few meters across and no deeper than one and a half meters in the center. Small, dark green plants clung to the rocky bottom, and tiny fish could be seen flitting midst them. Geralt followed the clusters of light that bounced from their sides and let his mind narrow down on the physicalities of the moment. His feet felt the pull of the stream. His back ached, because he had been building his strength back up during the summer, and apparently he wasn't recovering as quickly as he had when he'd been fifty years younger. He still wasn't old for a witcher, but he wasn't getting any younger either.

Geralt let his eyes sweep his surroundings. He often had a feeling of someone, or something, watching him when he came to this very place. He never saw or heard anything, but he couldn't rule out the possibility that something was keeping an eye on him. His senses didn't pick up on anything malevolent, so the witcher assumed the possible observer to be just curious, shy, or both.

Geralt lifted his feet from the water and crossed them at the ankles, leaning back on his elbows. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, revealing how the summer was giving room for autumn. The leaves were still green for the most part, but there was an unmistakable heaviness to the foliage. The summer had grown old, and now its sibling waited just around the corner, ready to turn the copse red and orange, ripen the acorns for squirrels to harvest, and then some time later sweep the hills and valleys with frost. Geralt waited for the fall. He didn't mind the heat, but he was used to chillier climates; staying in Toussaint had made him long for a proper winter.

Having a home to call his own was weird, Geralt mused. He had always thought himself pretty much homeless, especially since Kaer Morhen had been abandoned. It had not bothered him much, until he had decided to stay in Corvo Bianco semi-permanently. Now he could tell he was growing fond of the place. Parting, even when done voluntarily, would cause him to miss the constancy and routine of the estate. The thought would have caused distress, if not for Regis.

His mate was his true home. He knew it in his bones. They could go anywhere, and there would be no place he would not enjoy, as long as they went there together. The way Regis had explained it, their bond was still relatively fresh, and it made them long for close contanct. Being separated would become easier as months and years passed, the vampire had said. He had grinned happily and continued: ”Not that I am complaining. I rather like your way of staying within an arms reach at all times.” Geralt had frowned, but his smile had broken free almost instantly. He loved hearing Regis was happy. He could tell it, through the bond, but hearing it said aloud carried weight.

He'd had a hard time allowing himself to believe in their shared future. There had been so few permanent things in his life that he hadn't known what to do with one. Regis, who had essentially been a solitary creature ever since his reformation, had voiced similar, albeit more sophisticated trepidations. They had spent the summer at the vineyard, the witcher completing a few open-and-close contracts nearby, and Regis never wandering further away than the city. Little by little, as their bond settled, they had found a balance that worked for them.

Geralt smiled when he thought of Regis. He reached for the vampire through their bond, finding it restful and content. He brushed, just letting his lover know he was alright, and even when asleep, Regis' unconscious responded in kind.

The bond must have been the best thing to ever happen to him, he thought as he dipped his feet once again into the water. It provided him with an infallible tether, to which he could fall back on whenever it was needed. He could sense Regis' location roughly, if they were not too far away from each other, as well as his moods. At first, it had been kind of rough going, both of them overworking the connection whenever they felt tired, frustrated, or sad. With time, they had managed to even it out. Now it was more a matter of the other party acknowledging the distress and providing comfort.

Sitting there, Geralt admitted to himself he was as happy as he had ever been, despite the current problems with sleeping and nightmares. He had a home, and he had Regis, after all this time. He did miss the people who were alive and far away; Ciri, Yen, Dandelion, Zoltan... But he could always go and see them, he reminded himself. It was possible, even encouraged, going by Ciri's frequent letters. Geralt had been planning on visiting Novigrad before Yule, and he reminded himself to talk about it to Regis later. It would be nice to go to Skellige, as well. There he would find the proper winter, at least.

Yes, he was happy. The thing he missed most were the departed ones; those he wouldn't meet anymore, at least until he himself kicked the bucket and found out what was on the other side. Accepting it was hard, when he had been burying the feelings of guilt and sadness for years. The dead would need to be laid to rest before he could sleep well again, but Geralt didn't know how he would go about the task. Rationally he knew many of his friends were dead, but knowing did little to alleviate the yawning chasm of hurt residing somewhere near his heart. It still kept telling him he could have done things differently.

_It would be easier if I had someplace to go and talk to them,_ he thought.  _Something like a... graveyard, where all of them were buried, and where I could go whenever I can't sleep, and tell them how fucking much I miss them and how sorry I am._

And then the thought struck him.

***

”A shrine? That's a lovely idea,” Regis said, his eyes wide. Geralt had woken him up as soon as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, and the vampire had welcomed him back to the bed with open arms. They laid there tangled together, Regis dressed in his nightclothes and Geralt in his pants.

”Yeah?” he asked, feeling almost shy. ”You don't think it'd, I dunno, offend their spirits or anything?” Regis shrugged and shook his head.

”As far as I know, no. Desecrating a grave is one thing, building a shrine to honor the dead quite another.” He paused, pursing his lips and looking thoughtful. ”I have to say, I _do_ think it's a wonderful idea. You have lost so many friends during your travels that having one place to commemorate them all seems only fitting, especially when it's located close to your home,” he continued, his eyes soft and gentle. The long-clawed fingers dug into Geralt's hair and tried to sort through the tangles. Geralt hummed.

”Not like I'm the only one who's lost friends. I was kinda hoping you'd help me. The hansa... I mean, they were your friends, too,” he said, feeling the familiar sadness compress his chest. Regis closed his eyes and swallowed. An echo of despair rippled through the bond.

”I think about them every day,” he whispered. Geralt pulled him closer and kissed his brow. ”I know. So the shrine, it's for both of us. For Ciri, too, when she visits.” Regis opened his eyes and smiled. ”Yes, for all of them,” he answered.

They got to work after breakfast. Geralt remembered the simple shrine he had seen when he had visited Crow's Perch for the first time, and made a rough drawing of it. Regis, who was better with paper and pen, set to drawing them a better design, the two of them going back and forth until lunchtime rolled around. By then, they had established what they wanted to do. Barnabas-Basil, who had informed Geralt that the copse was indeed in his possession and that it had been left alone on account of some kind of a spirit possibly inhabiting the place, provided them with materials and tools.

After the lunch, Regis sat on the workshop table, swinging his legs and apparently thoroughly enjoying ordering Geralt around. The witcher had stripped his shirt off as he sawed the planks and then sanded them properly. The day was sunny and warm, and they took breaks sitting by its door, drinking the cold well water.

It was nice, Geralt thought, working with your hands. He had always enjoyed making stuff and mending things. He had half a thought of trying to learn some woodworking skills when he felt gentle heat skitter across the bond. He turned and saw Regis watching him by the working table, his eyes dark. Geralt lifted an eyebrow, smirking as he wiped off some sweat and sawdust. Regis licked his lips.

”You look at home,” he observed, shifting his weight and leaning against the table. ”I keep finding things I adore about you. I like watching you work,” he said, crossing his arms and smiling. Geralt shrugged. ”I like physical work. Always have liked making stuff, too.” Regis nodded and went back to watching.

By dinner, just as the sun had disappeared and the air started to cool, Geralt sat back and admired his handiwork. The shrine he had built didn't stand more than one and a half meters tall, but it had two sturdy shelves and a pretty roof to protect whatever he'd feel like putting on them. They had settled on reddish-brown wood, the name of which he had already forgotten. It had been easy to work with, and the result was rather beautiful. Simple and by no means anything he'd expect to see in a public place, but something he personally liked.

Regis came to stand beside him.

”You did well, my dear,” he said as he peered this way and that, clearly satisfied. ”Where do you want to put it?”

”I have this place where I've been going when I can't sleep. It's in that forest B-B was talking about. It seems unlikely no one will touch the place, so the shrine should go undisturbed,” he said. Regis smiled and nodded.

As they had dinner on the patio, Geralt thought about his little shrine. Somehow the thought of going to the stream by day seemed wrong. He had never ventured there during daylight, and the place held a sort of magical aura in his mind. Almost as if it didn't really exist until the sun went down, he thought. Rationally Geralt knew it was horseshit, but he still wanted to believe there was something special about the place.

Regis could feel he was thinking hard, but didn't interrupt him. Geralt was aware of his curious glances. He made up his mind, then.

”Listen, Regis. This might sound stupid, but I'd like to set the place up at night,” he blurted out without any preamble. Regis cocked his head, considering him.

”Because you've only ever been there by night?” he asked, his eyes kind. Geralt nodded, rubbing his neck. 

”Kind of, yeah. I know it's silly, but it just feels right,” he mumbled. Regis reached over the table and took his hand. ”Not at all. Shrines are places of belief, and their location should hold some semblance of the arcane. Even if one does not believe in life after death, acknowledging a shrine as a place of worship creates a liminal space around it,” he mused, his fingers stroking Geralt's hand. ”I think it's fitting. It could be a night shrine, for all accounts.”

”A night shrine?” Geralt asked.

”A belief system held north of Kovir believes the time of the day has great influence on people's lives. Night is the time of remembrance, there. They conduct all burials after sundown, and every lunar eclipse is a cause for great celebration, for then they believe the veil between this world and the next is almost nonexistent,” Regis explained, slipping into his old tone of lecturing with an air of satisfaction. Geralt grinned and squeezed his hand.

”Alright, you've convinced me it's not stupid. You wanna go tonight?” he asked, trying to stem the flow of words before Regis treated him to an hour of dissecting the Continent's religious divergences. Regis gave a laugh, knowing exactly what Geralt was doing, and nodded. ”I'd be honored,” he said, his smile once again warm. Geralt mirrored it.

”Well, we have some time before midnight,” he then drawled. ”Want to take a bath with me?” He saw Regis' eyes darken. ”Can't go set up a shrine all sweaty,” he continued, his grin widening as he felt heat thrum along the bond.

***

Regis lowered himself into the big, wooden tub with a satisfied sigh. The servant girl had filled it with hot water and poured in a generous measure of some fragrant oil. Geralt, who knew by now how much Regis loved being warm and comfortable, couldn't help a small laugh from escaping. Regis opened one eye, regarding him good-naturedly. Geralt grinned, stripping off his own pants.

”You look like you've been awarded your own personal piece of heaven every time you get to take a bath,” he laughed as he tried to comb out his hair, shaking off the stray bits of wood and sawdust clinging to it. Regis closed his eyes and smiled wider.

”Quite,” he whispered, leaning his head back. He looked relaxed and content.

Abandoning his hair as a lost cause, Geralt walked to the tub, taking a small stool with him. He poured some more hot water into a small basin and located a bar of herbal soap.

”Can I wash your hair?” he asked, threading his fingers through Regis' curls. The vampire merely nodded, letting out a satisfied sigh.

Geralt poured some water over his head, wetting the hair properly. He massaged Regis' scalp, drawing small, happy noises from him. When he started with the soap, Regis actually let out a sound that might've been a groan or a purr. The soap smelled of sandalwood and chamomile, and as Geralt worked the suds into the stubborn curls, he noticed how much darker they seemed. He knew Regis' own, original color was black, but Geralt had only seen him with silver-streaked hair. After they had finished the mating bond, Regis had started to heal faster.

Geralt wondered how much better he would be if he would drink blood, as well. They had still not explored that part, Regis wanting to be certain he would not slip. Geralt knew he wouldn't, but the vampire had not been convinced.

”I can practically hear you thinking,” Regis murmured, his eyes still closed and face relaxed. Geralt chuckled. ”Was thinking about your hair. I like seeing it grow back black. Never seen you like this.” Regis hummed, not saying anything. Geralt bent down and nuzzled his cheek, trying and failing to avoid getting soap into his face. ”Also thinking about how handsome you look,” he continued, only half-teasing. The truth of it was, Geralt had always found Regis handsome, even when he had been worn and tired-looking. He'd admired the sharp cheekbones and the proud jut of his chin even back when he had still nursed his own half-formed feelings, feeling vaguely guilty about them.

Regis twisted around and capturd him in a languid kiss. Geralt slid his soapy fingers to cup his jaw, letting his tongue tease Regis' lower lip. Regis nipped at his lips in return before parting with a satisfied huff. His eyes looked very dark, and Geralt felt a chill run down his spine.

”Finish what you started, love,” Regis whispered before leaning back against the tub. Geralt swallowed and set to washing out the soap. He realized he was half-hard.

It didn't feel appropriate to screw before going to set up a shrine, though. The thought was enough to quell the heat somewhat. After he had rinsed the last suds from Regis' hair, Geralt climbed into the tub, not caring that it really wasn't big enough for the two of them. He washed himself with practical movements, and let Regis wash his hair in turn. The vampire tsk'd a few times as he picked out the splinters of wood, and Geralt ”accidentally” splashed some water on his face. It was all terribly domestic, he thought while drying himself off. The thought felt good.

Afterwards he dressed in a clean shirt and pants, preparing to set off. Regis caught him by his sleeve when they went out of the door, pulling him close. The vampire kissed him again, holding him flush against himself. It was possessive and warm, a calm sort of reassurance. Geralt smiled into the kiss, knowing asking Regis to accompany him had been the right call.

Geralt picked up the shrine carefully, happy with his decision to stick to a small frame. They set off towards the woods, Geralt leading the way and Regis ambling behind him, occasionally stopping to pick up some flowers and herbs and stash them in his satchel.

”Why did you bring that?” Geralt asked, looking at Regis' bag. The vampire smiled quizzically. ”You will see,” was all he said.

Geralt's feet took him to his favorite spot automatically. Through the canopy, he could see the moon was exactly half-full. Some clouds drifted across the sky, but the night was calm and quiet. The stream murmured in the background as usually, and he could hear the blackbirds warbling in the nearby oak. Regis stopped beside him when he lowered the shrine to the ground. He looked around, taking the place in.

”I can see what you meant when you said this place was special,” he whispered. ”I also have a curious feeling we're being watched,” he added, smiling. Geralt nodded. ”I know. Haven't yet seen anyone here yet, though.”

”Mister Foulty claimed a spirit of some sort inhabits the copse, didn't he?” Regis asked, as he walked towards the stream and crouched by it.

”Yeah. I haven't ruled that out. If it's benevolent, it can stay as long as it likes,” Geralt huffed, hefting the small spade he had carried with him. He pondered the placing for a while, until coming to stand next to the big rock he had often used as a bench. In the end, he set out to dig holes for the shrine's base a few feet away from the boulder. Regis sat down and watched him work, holding his silence for once.

Once Geralt was finished, he kicked off his boots, waded into the stream and dug out some bigger rocks for the base. Then they set the shrine up together, Regis holding it up while Geralt beat the ground around the base solid and propped it up with the rocks. It didn't take long, and Geralt was pretty sure midnight was just around the corner when they finished.

Regis pulled out his satchel and gave Geralt a few candles. He didn't need to say anything. Together they set up the candles on the shelves, and Geralt lit them with a flick of _igni_. In the forest's gloom, the shrine looked almost otherwordly, the candles flickering and giving off a soft, warm glow. Regis placed some of the flowers he'd picked up next to the shrine.

”To friends and family, gone but not forgotten,” he murmured, coming back to stand beside Geralt and grasping his hand. Geralt swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts. He'd thought he would know what to say when they were ready, but now the words were gone. There was only sadness that swirled around, gentler than it had been. Regis, who could sense his mood, wrapped his arm around his waist and held him closer.

It took a long time for Geralt's mind to calm down. Little by little, he started to distinguish the various emotions and memories, acknowledging them all.

”This is for Milva, Cahir, and Angoulême. You came with me, you put up with my crap more than was fair, and you were killed too early,” he whispered. He heard Regis sniff, burying his head to his shoulder.

”To Vesemir,” he continued, choking a little. He took a deep breath and went on. ”You were there for me. Every time. I'm sorry we couldn't save you.” He looked up, not really seeing the moon because he was busy trying to blink away the tears.

”For Crach. I'm sorry I was too late, my friend” he finished, feeling empty. There were so many more, but those had been the worst ones weighing him down. Wherever they had been buried, he could now keep their memories here. He didn't need to carry them around anymore.

”May they rest peacefully, and may their memories bring joy and courage to those of us who are still here,” Regis murmured, hugging Geralt closer.

They ended up sitting on the boulder, trading some stories about their loved ones. It was comforting to relive some of the happier times in their lives after what had essentially been a wake. When the stories and anecdotes ran out, Geralt leaned his head on Regis' shoulder and closed his eyes, letting the stream and the blackbirds lull him into a soft meditative state. He was brought back to the present moment by Regis, who pulled at his sleeve cautiously.

”Geralt,” he whispered, pointing towards a flowering bush. ”Look.”

Geralt blinked his eyes, and was met with a pair of cornflower blue ones. They were almost hidden midst the bright blue flowers. Their owner blinked slowly, but didn't stop staring. The eyes were round and wary. Geralt sat up straighter and opened his palms to show he was unarmed.

”You can come out,” he called over with a soft voice. ”We won't hurt you.”

The eyes blinked again, looking them over and clearly assessing the truth of what he had said. Finally, a creature the size of a small child emerged. She (for it was indeed a she) was dressed in a dress woven out of grass and flowers. Her hair was very pale, her skin bluish.

”My goodness,” Regis whispered. ”You are a godling.”

The godling nodded, her face solemn and shy. Geralt felt a smile spread on his face. He remembered another of her kind, inhabiting a swamp in Velen.

”We won't hurt you,” he repeated. ”This forest is your home, isn't it?”

Again, the godling nodded. Geralt smiled wider.

”I've met a few of your kind before, he told the small creature. ”One of them is called Johnny. He lives in Crookbag Bog in Velen. He was very helpful once I helped him regain his voice.” Regis lifted an eyebrow, smiling too. ”I will tell you later,” Geralt laughed. The godling gave him a small, shy smile.

”I also met one called Sarah. She was living in an abandoned building in Novigrad, of all places. I convinced the house's owner the place was haunted so Sarah could stay,” he chuckled. Regis looked amused.

”I know Sarah and Johnny,” the godling said. Her voice was quiet and cautious, so unlike Johnny's bravado. She blinked and smiled again, wider this time. ”We all came from the same mother.”

”Is that so?” Regis asked. He looked so curious Geralt saw it fit to interrupt him.

”What's your name?” he asked. The godling pursed her lips.

”What're yours?” she shot back, still timid. Geralt couldn't blame her. Godlings had borne the brunt of humans spreading everywhere. They were kind and helpful creatures when they received respect, but too often people regarded them as something to be feared.

”My name is Geralt of Rivia. I'm a witcher,” he answered.

”I am Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, but that's too long for anyone to remember, so I just go by Regis,” the vampire told the golding, who was starting to grin.

”I like your name. It has funny phonemes,” she giggled. ”My name is Marie. You're not human, are you?” she continued, addressing Regis.

”It's a pleasure, Marie, and no, I am not,” Regis answered, apparently not finding it at all weird that a small forest-dwelling creature could see through his disguise in a heartbeat. ”How long have you been living in this copse?” Marie shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

”Oh, very long. I came here when this forest was _waaay_ bigger than it is now. Humans have burned much of it down,” she said and looked sad. ”I haven't dared to show myself to anyone for years, because last time they started talking about cutting the rest of the trees down. The man with the funny glass eyes prevented it,” she whispered.

”His name is Barnabas-Basil. He works for me,” Geralt said and huffed a laugh. Marie gave him a smile and said: ”You are the man with cat eyes and who owns the vineyard now. My birds have told me all about you!” she laughed, before suddenly falling silent.

”What is it?” Geralt asked.

Marie sniffed. ”Will you cut down my trees? Now that you know I'm not a dangerous spirit,” she whispered. Geralt scowled, something twisting inside his gut.

”I would never do that. You have my word that your home is safe,” he told the godling. Marie looked up at him, clearly not daring to believe him. Geralt looked around, and his eyes fell on the shrine.

”We built that shrine to have a place where we could come to remember our dead friends. It means a lot to us, and we want to make sure it goes undisturbed.”

Marie's blue eyes flicked to the shrine. ”It's very pretty,” she said.

Regis smiled, squeezing Geralt's hand. ”You can trust Geralt, Marie. He has a good heart, and when he makes a promise, he always keeps it.”

For some reason, the godling seemed convinced by Regis' words. Maybe it was a non-human thing, Geralt mused.

Marie smiled at them, so wide her crooked teeth showed. ”You're very kind. I can ask the birds not to poop on your shrine, if you'd like,” she said happily. Geralt and Regis laughed.

***

They made their way back in silence. Marie had waved at them when they left the shrine. She had been gone the next moment.

"That was funny. Here I thought all godlings were mischievous and as in love with their own voices as you are,” Geralt mused as they took off their clothing and prepared for sleep. Regis made a face at him, but the bond was shaking with laughter.

”I'm hardly in love with my own voice. I just enjoy talking,” he said in a dignified sort of way, making Geralt laugh out loud. ”It's a good thing you and Johnny never met. I would've never got a word in between you two,” he chuckled as he laid down on the bed. Regis looked at him, clearly amused. ”Never say never, my love,” he grinned. He got into bed and pulled Geralt close. They laid there for a long while, both happy to enjoy the proximity.

”Do you think you'll be able to sleep?” Regis asked, when Geralt's eyes started to droop. The witcher shrugged. ”Dunno yet. I'm not worried, though,” he said, looking into Regis' black eyes.

”How so?” the vampire asked. He was combing his fingers through Geralt's hair, and the feeling was familiar and calming.

”I'm just not. I've done what I can, and now I think it's only a matter of letting time do its work.” Regis nodded. He begun to hum the song he had often used when Geralt had woken from a nightmare. Geralt let himself drift off to the sound.

 

**Author's Note:**

> We had an unexpected death in the family. I've been coping by cleaning everything I can get my hands on and writing this fic.


End file.
